


Apocalypse

by Qayin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, F/M, M/M, Pack Feels, Pack fails to stop Anuk-ite and the world goes to shit, Spell Failure, bad alternate universe, two Stiles' shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qayin/pseuds/Qayin
Summary: Right after the pack banishes the Anuk-ite a bright glow appears in the library. Out from the light, an older, alternate universe Stiles appear, fleeing the fear and panic the world has become in the reality the pack failed to stop the Anuk-ite. The problem is, Alternative Universe Stiles is not prepared to leave his surviving packmates behind.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	Apocalypse

Scott’s eyes healed from Malia’s kiss, and Stiles was just a little weirded out by the thought of his ex-girlfriend and his best friend together when suddenly a blue light started pulsating at the top of the stairs. 

“Now what?” Stiles asked. Derek placed a hand on Stiles and pushed him back, which was a little emasculating, but sure, and Stiles did the same to Lydia. Scott and Malia bounced up and faced the light. 

Everyone stared; claws out, fangs sharp, ready for whatever new thing that would attack them. The light was spinning faster and faster. It started to look like a vortex from a sci-fi movie or something, and it was becoming really, really bright. Stiles had to shield his eyes with his hand. 

Then, from the middle, a figure appeared. At first, it was just a shadow, but then it seemed to rush forward, and all of the sudden the shape burst through the light and fell headfirst down the stairs. The light disappeared, and the pack stared at the unconscious shape of another Stiles Stilinski. 

“What the hell is that?” Stiles screeched. His mind was back with the nogitsune, seeing it wear his face and hurting his friends. He was freaking out, and badly. 

Scott was the first one to approach, and he turned the unconscious impostor around. 

“It’s - but -” Scott said and glanced between Stiles and the fake-Stiles. Something in his tone forced Stiles out of his panic long enough to start to think. He stared down at his own face and realized that while it certainly was him, it didn’t look like him. 

Or, not how he looked _now_. The fake-Stiles had a ragged beard for one, and he was covered in grime and dirt. His clothes were torn, and he looked… older, somehow. Like, maybe closer to thirty than nineteen. He was also bleeding from several cuts on his face, and his leg was twisted the wrong way. 

“We need to get him medical attention,” Derek said and together with Scott heaved the unconscious body up between them. 

“Or we leave that thing where we found it and preferably set it on fire,” Stiles suggested. He was not enjoying his new chance at having a doppelganger. Once had been more than enough. Scott and Derek ignored him and started pulling the fake-Stiles out of the library. Lydia wrapped her arm around Stiles’ waist, but that didn’t calm him. 

“Why is it always out of the frying pan and into the fire with Beacon Hills?” Stiles complained. Malia petted his shoulder gently as if saying _‘there, there.’_ It did not calm Stiles either. 

* * *

They rushed fake-Stiles to the animal clinic, where Deaton reset fake-Stiles’ broken bone and Scott treated his cuts with antiseptic. Then they all left fake-Stiles on the table and talked out in the waiting room. 

“You say the light just appeared?” Deaton asked. Scott nodded. Stiles, distracted, glanced to the door into where his other self was lying. 

“Have any ideas?” Scott asked. Deaton shook his head. 

“I’m afraid not. It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever come across before.” 

“Okay, but it’s definitely evil, right?” Stiles asked. He was not prepared to call fake-Stiles he, either. As far as Stiles was concerned, fake-Stiles was an it. An evil it, waiting to sink its filthy claws into their pack and tear it apart. 

“We don’t know that,” Derek of all people said. Stiles glared at Derek because Stiles had just saved Derek from the FBI and now Derek was siding with fake-Stiles? Where was the loyalty? “All he did was to fall out of the light and down the stairs. Does not exactly scream evil competence.” 

Stiles huffed, offended. Derek had the nerve to smirk at him. So it was a jab at real Stiles, huh? Well, two could play that game. 

“Or, that’s exactly what it wants us to think, so it can get close - you know, like the _nogitsune_?” 

Everyone in the room flinched at the name. It was still… well, it was still raw, no matter how much time had passed. The nogitsune had hurt them. It had manipulated them and killed Allison. 

“Derek is right,” Scott said. “We don’t know if he’s evil.” 

“No, because it would be crazy to think that the doppelganger that appeared literally _minutes_ after we managed to deal with the Anuk-ite would be evil,” Stiles drawled and rolled his eyes. 

“We won’t know anything before he wakes up,” Lydia said calmly. Stiles grumbled but eventually agreed. 

“Are we at least going to guard it?” he asked. 

“I can do that,” Derek offered. Stiles stalked over to the reception couch and huffed down into it. Scott pulled out his phone. 

“I need to meet with Liam.” 

“I’ll come with you,” said Malia. Lydia stalked over to the couch and sat down next to him. Apparently, she knew Stiles well enough to know he wasn’t going to leave fake-Stiles to its own, evil devices, and then neither was she. 

She took his hand and squeezed, and finally, her presence made Stiles a little calmer. A little. 

* * *

The next day the pack reconvened at the animal clinic. Derek, Lydia and Stiles had taken turns to watch unconscious fake-Stiles through the night, and he hadn’t so much as stirred. Everyone was a little worse for wear, mentally if not physically.

They all explained their different stories with everything that had happened since last. Stiles and Derek were arguing about the whole FBI-bust and the status of Stiles’ toe when suddenly the door to the examination-room flew open and fake-Stiles appeared. 

The pack grew silent for a moment and just stared at it. Then it raised a scalpel at them and looked… scared. 

“Where the hell am I?” fake-Stiles asked, and even his voice sounded older, gruffer, darker somehow. 

Scott was the first one to speak. He slowly raised his hands, showing he wasn’t a threat. “You’re at the animal clinic.” 

Fake-Stiles glanced at Scott and several emotions went past his face, fear, anguish, anger, frustration, exhaustion. 

The belief that Stiles had clung to so desperately, that fake-Stiles was evil crashed as he saw those emotions. Fake-Stiles didn’t look evil, he looked terrified and exhausted. 

“I can see that,” fake-Stiles snapped, not once lowering the scalpel. “How am I here? This place is trashed - how are you here? You’re _dead_.” 

His voice broke, and fake-Stiles looked around at them with a frantic look in his eyes. Then his eyes landed on Derek and he gasped loudly. The scalpel fumbled out of his hands and onto the floor. Fake-Stiles looked like he was fighting not to cry. 

“You’re dead,” he said again, then he passed out again. 

Scott barely managed to catch him before he hit the ground and looked confused at the pack. 

“Great,” Stiles whined. “Of course he’s a fucking psycho.” 

* * *

The next time fake-Stiles woke up, they were all a little more prepared for him. They had driven fake-Stiles to real Stiles’ home, and Stiles had even graciously given up his own bed for fake-Stiles to rest and heal as much as possible. Scott, Malia, Lydia and Derek had remained while the rest of the pack went home, and Stiles’ father had been very cool about the whole two Stiles’ situation. 

He even seemed fatherly concerned about fake-Stiles, and Stiles didn’t know how he felt about that. He had caught his dad several times appearing in the room “just to check on them” and once he had even walked over to the bed and dragged a hand through fake-Stiles’ long, unruly hair. 

Maybe Stiles shouldn’t be that surprised. Everyone had been kind of sentimental ever since Stiles returned from the Wild Hunt, and especially his father. Noah was practically doting on Stiles every chance he got, so injured, mysterious fake-Stiles was right up his alley right now. It still didn’t feel good. 

“So, he definitely knew us,” Lydia said. She was talking quietly as to not disturb fake-Stiles. 

“Yeah, but he also said we were dead,” Malia said and glanced at fake-Stiles. “Maybe he’s a little, you know - crazy?” 

Then she looked apologetically at Stiles like she was calling _him_ crazy. Stiles scoffed. 

“He was telling the truth,” Derek said darkly. “When he said we were dead. Or at least he believes it.” 

Scott nodded and watched the bed. “He seemed scared.” 

“Well I’m freaked out by him too,” Stiles complained. “We should be figuring out how the hell he ended up here and then shove him back where he belongs.” 

“It was a spell,” fake-Stiles said then from the bed. Stiles practically jumped out of his skin, and when he turned his neck he saw fake-Stiles slowly sit up and take in the room. “I was trying to get away from danger, but it was… a last resort kind of spell.” 

Fake-Stiles’ eyes travelled across the room, taking in everything from Stiles’ laptop to his lacrosse-stick and gloves to the posters still on the walls. He looked shell-shocked by their appearance like he was in a haze. 

“So you know what brought you here?” Scott asked, sounding hopeful. Fake-Stiles turned and watched him, then his eyes moved past and took in everyone else in the room. His eyes stayed on each and every one of them for the longest time before they finally reached Stiles. Then fake-Stiles frowned. 

“What year is it?” fake-Stiles asked. Stiles frowned. That did not sound good. Questions about what year it was never boded well. 

“2017,” Stiles answered anyway. Fake-Stiles eyes widened. 

“The Anuk-ite, it’s gonna -” 

“We already killed it,” Scott said. Fake-Stiles grew still and stared at Scott. 

“You killed it?” he copied. “How?” 

Scott glanced at Stiles like he wanted Stiles to take the lead. Stiles shrugged. Scott was the alpha, this was his job. 

“Mountain-ash,” Scott said eventually. 

“Mountain-ash,” fake-Stiles copied. He stared out into the room for a moment, then he laughed, but it sounded completely deranged. Fake-Stiles’ entire body rocked. He pressed a hand to his face, and the laughter turned into sobs, but every so often the laughter would bubble forth again. It was honestly one of the creepiest things Stiles’ had ever seen. 

Fake-Stiles pulled himself together and straightened. 

“Mountain-ash,” he said and shook his head. “Because one of the halves is supernatural?” 

Scott nodded. Fake-Stiles shook his head. 

“Well that’s just great,” he said angrily. “The whole world in shambles and the answer was mountain-fucking-ash.” 

Fake-Stiles rubbed his face to combat the tears, then he glared at the cast his leg was in. 

“I need to fucking piss,” he said and heaved himself up from the bed. Scott stepped close to help him, but fake-Stiles glared until Scott moved away, then he painstakingly hobbled over to Stiles’ bathroom and slammed the door shut. 

“You’re right,” said Stiles to Malia. “He’s fucking crazy.” 

* * *

Fake-Stiles was starving, so after he reappeared from the bathroom he acquiesced to be helped downstairs by Derek and Lydia, and now he was sitting by Stiles’ kitchen-table, stuffing his mouth with food like he hadn’t eaten properly in years. The only time he took a break was when he glanced at Noah as if to reassure himself that he was there before he shoved more food down his throat. 

No one said anything as he ate, but once it finally appeared like even starving fake-Stiles couldn’t force down a single crumb more Scott asked him to explain everything he knew. Fake-Stiles licked the grease off of his fingers because he ate with his hands like a fucking savage and glanced around at them. 

He sighed, then his eyes lingered on Derek for a moment before they slipped past to Stiles. 

“I think the spell I performed took me into an alternative universe,” he said. Stiles couldn’t help but snort. Fake-Stiles shrugged. “I’m not sure why else there are two of me, or how people I saw die in front of my very eyes are now alive and well.” 

His words sobered up the room. Scott and Stiles shared an uncomfortable look. 

“You said something about the Anuk-ite,” Lydia spoke up. “We never stopped it in your world?” 

Fake-Stiles looked at her and his face turned pained. He jerkily shook his head. 

“It grew too strong. We couldn’t contain it to Beacon Hills anymore, and then the fear spread.” Fake-Stiles took a deep breath. “Where I’m from? It’s the apocalypse. People are terrified, and it’s full-out war.” 

The room took the news in. Stiles felt his mind work overtime trying to get a sense of the whole thing. 

“Are we talking American experience on the Iraqi war, or are we talking war-war?” Stiles asked. Fake-Stiles looked at him and his eyes - _their_ eyes - were hollow and broken. Stiles swallowed. 

“Think more like zombie-apocalypse,” fake-Stiles said somberly. “People are tearing each other to shreds in fear. It’s a bloodbath whenever you come across another person.” 

“And we’re all dead?” Scott asked. “Everyone but you?” 

Fake-Stiles looked at Scott, then he shrugged again. 

“We tried to stay together. It worked, for a bit. Then Lydia and Liam died in an attack from Gerard and Monroe. They targeted Lydia so she wouldn’t be an _‘unfair advantage,’_ they said. Liam died trying to save her.” Fake-Stiles’ voice was dark and filled with poison as he spoke. He glared at the plate as if it had personally cast the killing blow. 

Stiles himself felt a swell of anger rush through him at the thought of Lydia and Liam dying; at Gerard and Monroe hurting them. His chest felt almost painfully tight. 

“Then Scott died about a year later, saving Malia,” Fake-Stiles said darkly. He looked between Scott and Malia as he said, and fixed Malia with his gaze in the end. “Malia died saving Peter. Peter committed suicide a few days after that.

“Dad and Mason died from fever. I was almost gone too, but…” here he shook his head and grimaced like fate was cruel for not killing him as well. Stiles painstakingly clearly understood the feeling because he was sure he would have felt the same way if everyone around him died like that. “Melissa kind of just... gave up. She stopped eating and we had to force it down her throat, but she just wasted away. Derek had to…” 

Fake-Stiles stopped. He clamoured his mouth shut like it was painful to speak, or even to think about. Stiles saw Scott’s eyes glow red. 

“What?” Scott snapped. Fake-Stiles pressed his lips together so tightly that they turned white. 

“What?” Scott roared. Fake-Stiles snapped his head to Scott and glared at him. 

“Derek had to kill her, alright?” he shouted. Scott blinked, then grabbed fake-Stiles by the shirt. 

“You killed my mom?!” he screamed. 

“She was already dead,” fake-Stiles screamed back. “Don’t you get it, she was dead in her mind! She refused to eat, she was slowing us down. What were we supposed to do, leave her to waste away slowly?” 

“You weren’t supposed to kill her!” Scott screamed. Fake-Stiles shoved a hand down and knocked Scott’s grip clean off. 

“We did her a kindness,” fake-Stiles hissed. “You have no idea how it’s like there. She was better of dying next to her family than alone with the _fear_ and the _people_.” 

“So you just killed her?” Scott snapped. 

Fake-Stiles glared at Scott. The expression wasn’t something Stiles had ever seen from his own face. 

“We dragged her with us,” he hissed slowly. “For months, we dragged her along, forced food down her throat. By the end, she was so thin and weak that she wasn’t even a human anymore. She was a breathing skeleton. We were _kind_ , Scott. 

“Do you get that?” Fake-Stiles rubbed his face again, and this time once again to ward off tears. “We saved her. That wasn’t life. We were _kind_.” 

“Jesus,” Stiles’ father murmured. Fake-Stiles tore his eyes away from Scott and continued to silently cry as he glared down at the plate in front of him. 

“We tried to get to Mexico, to find Kira and Cora, but we never got that far south,” fake-Stiles said eventually and swiped the tears away from his face. “Corey died at the border. Derek died -” 

Fake-Stiles’ voice broke now, and the tears came back in full swing. He hid his face with his hands and wept. Noah stood from his chair and hugged him, and fake-Stiles cried into real Stiles’ father’s chest for what felt like an eternity. 

Eventually, fake-Stiles pulled away from Noah and wiped at his face again. He did not glance at Derek but instead steeled his jaw into thin air. 

“Derek died two weeks ago,” he said and took a shaky breath. 

Jesus Christ. 

For some reason, Stiles had been able to keep his cool through this entire story because it had kind of felt like something far-away, that happened a long time ago. The way fake-Stiles had talked about Lydia and Liam’s death like it was old news kind of made it feel… distant. But the knowledge that for fake-Stiles, Derek had just died, for some reason, made this whole thing real. 

Stiles pressed his nails into the palms of his hands to try and keep himself calm, but it was… really hard. This was awful. Fake-Stiles’ story was just… the worst. 

Stiles couldn’t even imagine what it was like being the last one standing after everyone else was gone. After his entire pack was dead. 

He thought his worst fear was becoming blind. Now he realised that his worst fear was being left behind. And fake-Stiles was living that fear. 

“So yeah, it’s only me and Theo left. Everyone else is dead.” Fake-Stiles raised his head and watched Scott. 

“Theo?” Stiles asked besides himself. Mason had said that Theo had taken some pain from Gabe as the kid was dying, but Stiles still felt like that was a far cry from sticking together with the pack for years in an apocalyptic landscape. He didn’t think Theo had that in him. 

“Yeah,” fake-Stiles said solemnly. “Now this has already taken too long, I need to find the spell to get back to him.” 

Everyone was silent for a moment. Stiles frowned. 

“You’re going back to zombie-apocalypse?” Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself. Of course fake-Stiles was going back, that was exactly what Stiles wanted; to have his creepy, older, worn and sad doppelganger out of his life. 

And yet… the world fake-Stiles described sounded awful. Had Stiles been in his shoes he would have clung to this non-broken world and never let go. 

Fake-Stiles glared at him, and for a moment Stiles was reminded of the nogitsune again. There was real hatred burning in fake-Stiles’ eyes. Then fake-Stiles pushed himself up. 

“Well I’m not going to leave Theo all alone,” he hissed out, his voice venomous like Stiles’ question was offensive. Scott raised his hands again and fake-Stiles watched his movements like he any moment expected an attack. 

“We’ll help you,” Scott said kindly. For a moment fake-Stiles looked torn again, then he nodded jerkily. 

“Is Deaton alive?” he asked. “He might know how to help.” 

* * *

The pack all met up at the animal clinic. Even Theo came, and fake-Stiles kept acting all weird at the sight of him. Like he was relieved, and also mad because it wasn’t the right Theo. Still, Theo acted equally weird, like he was touched by the fact fake-Stiles was hellbent on returning to alternative universe Theo’s side. He kept reading through Deaton’s books, and every so often he’d show what he’d found; like the flowers fake-Stiles had used for the spell, or the archaic Latin words fake-Stiles had mashed together to cast the spell.

“Well, I think I know the spell now,” Deaton said carefully. “But I have no idea how it managed to transport you into an alternative universe. By all accounts, it should have just transported you to safety.” 

Fake-Stiles was silently reading, then he sighed and leaned back. 

“That’s the thing,” he said. Stiles saw his eyes travel over to the Derek for a moment, then quickly hurry away from him. He rubbed his face. “There is _no_ safety there. The Anuk-ite’s power is too… the fear and bloodlust is too strong, so the spell… took me to another dimension instead. One where the Anuk-ite just got destroyed.” 

“We could try and reverse the spell,” Deaton said slowly, “but if it is as dangerous as you say over there it might not work. At its core, the spell is for safety. Trying to undo it would be like trying to change the way the moon affects werewolves or the tides. It’s going against an integrated part of the spell’s very existence.” 

“Which is extremely difficult,” fake-Stiles sighed. Stiles could practically see how fake-Stiles deflated. It was like years of being on the run finally caught up with him, and he just couldn’t go on anymore. 

Stiles chewed his lip and watched Lydia as she poured over text after text, trying to come up with a solution. He glanced over to Derek who was scowling at a spot in the wall. He thought back on how his dad had stroked fake-Stiles’ messy hair out of his face when he was unconscious, and Stiles made a decision. 

“What if we perform it to pull Theo into this world too?” he asked. The pack turned to look at him, and Stiles fiddled awkwardly with his hands. “Like, if it’s about safety, pulling Theo here would keep him safe. Would that - uh, be easier then? Kind of, not going against the spell, but just… sidestepping its original purpose?” 

Deaton glanced between Stiles and fake-Stiles. 

“Maybe,” he said slowly. 

“We’re not doing that,” fake-Stiles said sharply. Stiles frowned. 

“Dude, your world is fucked! It freaking sucks!” 

Fake-Stiles glared at him, but he seemed to be running on fumes. 

“But it’s _my_ world,” he snapped. “It may be fucked and horrible but it’s _mine_. I can’t -” 

Here he snapped his mouth shut. Stiles watched as his mirror-images' dark eyes slipped over to Derek again. Fake-Stiles clenched his fists and looked away, a pained expression on his face. Stiles frowned deeper. 

“You want to get Theo?” Stiles asked harshly. “Well, this is your chance to fucking save Theo.” 

Fake-Stiles exhaled shakily, then looked over to the real Theo. He was silent for a moment, then he nodded. 

“Okay,” fake-Stiles said quietly. “Let’s do it.” 

* * *

The spell was fairly easy to set up. They mixed herbs together the way fake-Stiles had done before, then Stiles watched as his doppelganger painted what looked kind of like a pentagram on the wall. 

“Now remember, Stiles,” Deaton said to fake-Stiles. “It will be different to pull Theo through then it was for you to go through. You’re going to have to focus all your attention to _tug at him_ , rather than allow yourself to be tugged away.” 

Fake-Stiles nodded seriously. He looked really tired and worried, and for a moment Stiles wondered if he’d be able to go through with it. 

“You can do it,” Scott said reassuringly. Fake-Stiles looked at him, his expression unreadable, then he nodded. 

“Okay. Happy thoughts,” fake-Stiles said and straightened up. He stared at the symbols he had drawn, then slowly took a deep breath. He raised his hands, then said words that Stiles only knew were Latin because they literally just had told him that. 

The symbols on the wall started glowing. At first the light spun around slowly, then it started to pick up speed. The same, cool blue light that had appeared in the library appeared in the clinic. Stiles could see his doppelganger tremble like it took a lot of energy to sustain the magic. 

Fake-Stiles whimpered and clutched to the arm-rests of his seat. He was sweating and shivering now. The light was starting to lose its brightness. It was in no way close to the way it had looked in the library. 

“I… can’t,” fake-Stiles gasped. “It’s too much, I can’t reach him.” 

“Don’t think about Theo,” Derek said, surprising everyone. He had barely spoken at all, so the suggestion that fake-Stiles shouldn’t think of Theo was an odd one. Theo was the one they were trying to collect. 

Derek shook his head and carried on. “It’s too specific, too human. Think of your pack. Magic is primal, so think about the pack-bond. The most primal, real part that ties you together.” 

Fake-Stiles looked at Derek like he had sprouted a second head, then he pressed his eyes closed. The light shimmered, then fake-Stiles screamed.

Stiles had to cover his face at the burst of light. His mind was ringing from the scream that carried on and on, like the one making the sound was being tortured. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the light vanished. 

Fake-Stiles slumped out of the chair and onto the floor. Next to him on the floor laid another Theo. And another Derek. 

* * *

Deaton and Melissa rushed to attend to the three unconscious people, while Stiles and the rest of the pack stepped back in shock. 

It had worked, and fake-Stiles had managed to pull Theo from the horror-world and into this one. And he had also somehow pulled Derek with. Except that Derek was dead. 

At least that was what fake-Stiles had said. 

“Okay, this is just getting weirder,” Stiles said. 

From the floor, fake-Stiles groaned and raised his head. 

“Did it work?” he asked groggily. Stiles could practically see the moment he locked eyes and saw Theo next to him. Fake-Stiles pushed himself up, ignored the cast on his leg and reached out for the unconscious body of fake-Theo, and then he caught sight of Derek. 

Fake-Stiles froze, then he cried out and grabbed fake-Derek by the shoulders. He jerked Derek’s unconscious body up and into a bone-crushing hug and just wept. 

“Derek,” he cried, clutching to his form. Melissa tried to get him off so she could continue her look-over, but fake-Stiles refused to let go. 

From the floor, Stiles saw as fake-Derek stirred, then fake-Derek opened his eyes. 

“Stiles?” he asked. Fake-Stiles wailed louder at that, which in turn caused fake-Derek to become more aware of his surroundings. Stiles watched as fake-Derek pulled himself out of fake-Stiles grasp so they looked at each other, then fake-Stiles and fake-Derek was kissing. 

Desperately and panicked, like they would die if they didn’t. 

Stiles knew he should look away, but he couldn’t. Besides his and Derek’s smooching doppelgangers fake-Theo was coming to. 

“What just happened?” fake-Theo asked. Fake-Stiles and fake-Derek pulled apart and fake-Stiles twisted and pulled fake-Theo into an equally bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, god,” fake-Stiles murmured and hugged both of them to him. He was crying again, and this time Stiles actually did look away. 

“Okay, these guys need some privacy,” he exclaimed loudly and ushered everyone out into the waiting room. His cheeks were flushed bright red, but he ignored it and pretended that this was perfectly normal. 

His alternative dimension self kissing alternative dimension Derek after thinking the werewolf died? Normal. 

Yup. Very normal. Beacon Hills normal, at least. 

* * *

Stiles and his father took in the three alternative dimension fugitives. Of course they did. And when Noah came to pick them up, fake-Stiles turned to look at real Theo with a frown. 

“Do you sleep in your car?” he asked. Real Theo actually blushed and looked away. Fake-Stiles’ face set into a determined look and he grabbed hold of his arm. “You’re coming with us.” 

No one argued with fake-Stiles then, so the house was at full capacity. 

It was weird, and it kept getting weirder by the fact that fake-Stiles and fake-Derek refused to let each other go. 

And Stiles needed to find a better way to refer to the other dimension people because fake in front of their names didn’t work anymore. They weren’t fake. They were real, and they obviously been through something traumatic. 

Theo and Derek were not wounded the way fake - the way Stiles was - but even they had barely healed scars. Stiles knew werewolves could heal practically anything, so he didn’t want to think about what had scarred them like that. 

Eventually, they got the full story about how alternative universe Derek was still alive. Stiles had been correct in the fact that Derek had gotten severely injured two weeks ago. His heartbeat had slowed down to barely existent, and since they had been under attack at the time, Stiles and Theo had had no choice but to leave his body. 

Derek had eventually healed well enough that he could get up and had just found Theo and they were searching for Stiles when the vortex pulled them out from their universe. 

“I knew it was you,” Derek said to Stiles, still holding onto his hand as he told the story. “I felt it.” 

“Me too,” said Theo and touched his chest, right over his heart. “It felt like… pack.” 

Stiles smiled faintly at that and wrapped his arm around Theo. Theo folded in and rested against him, looking more content than real Stiles had ever seen real Theo look. 

“We need better ways to refer to you guys,” Real Stiles said. “This is going to get confusing pretty quickly.” 

“Well I’m not taking Mieczysław,” fake-Stiles said. Stiles scoffed. 

“Oh, come on, that’s unfair - it’s my universe, I get Stiles,” he said. 

“I’m older,” said Mieczysław. 

“How about Stilinski, Hale and Raeken,” Noah offered. 

Both Stiles and Mieczysław scoffed at that. 

“No, he’s Mieczysław,” they both said. Then Derek Hale from the other universe actually laughed, and Stiles could see why Mieczysław would make out with that. 

Stiles blushed and looked away. 

Their pack and family was just getting weirder. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this, I love feedback!


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